


Luxuries

by Bagheera



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who: Scream of the Shalka
Genre: Banter, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, the Master wasn't sure which was the excuse and which the ulterior motive in this situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luxuries

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, betaed by x_los.

The Master didn't need to sleep. He didn't even need to recharge, because he wasn't that kind of primitive android. He had his own internal power source. But not sleeping also meant he couldn't lounge around at breakfast still in his dressing gown or sink down on freshly laundered sheets after a long grueling day of drifting around in the vortex between missions and not doing much. In short, sleep was one of the luxuries of life, and the Master wasn't going to cheat himself out of it. Trapped inside the Doctor's TARDIS, he had little enough choice when it came to his lifestyle. Especially the fine things in life, the things that made it worth living, were out of reach: he could plot all he wanted, realistically, universal conquest wasn't going to happen, and killing the Doctor would have been akin to shooting himself not only in the foot, but in both hearts and his head.

But sleeping also meant having a bedroom, and a bed, and apparently being molested in the middle of the night by disheveled Time Lords in night-shirts. Opening his eyes when the bed dipped under the Doctor's weight, Master raised his brows slightly at this revelation of the Doctor's choice of nightwear. Compared to the shapeless, knee-length white cotton monstrosity (all that was lacking was the nightcap) the Doctor was wearing, the Master felt over-dressed in his black silk pajamas.

"Doctor, is there a specific reason you're in my bed?"

"I need to sleep with you," the Doctor said, through chattering teeth.

"Let me guess. The environmental controls in all rooms but mine have miraculously malfunctioned. Only by invading my privacy can you evade certain death."

There was a long pause. The Doctor shifted closer in what he probably thought of as a sneaky, hardly noticeable way. A cold, bony knee pushed against the side of the Master's thigh. "No. But I really need to sleep with you."

"Just to be clear - are you merely annoying me, or do I need to fear for my artificial virtue?"

"Don't you care whether I will get my sleep or not?" the Doctor complained. "What kind of companion are you?"

"Oh, a sadly uninformed one, it seems. You do this with all your companions, then? And there I thought you were still playing the conveniently asexual uncle."

"No!"

"An interestingly ambiguous denial."

"No, I am not sexually exploiting all my companions!" The Doctor sounded genuinely disturbed and hurt. The Master didn't particularly care; this was too amusing.

"But you do have your hand on my hip."

"It got there by accident. See, it's gone." The hand was indeed gone, but the Doctor was now so close that they shared a pillow and the Master could feel the Doctor's breath against his neck. The Master lay on his back, the Doctor on his side facing him; if the Master had turned around, their noses would have been touching. "If you throw me out," the Doctor threatened, "I'll sit in front of your door and sing."

"Be my guest. I'll turn off my hearing and have a good night's sleep."

"I hate you," the Doctor muttered.

"Oh, I was doing it wrong all the time! And there I thought death traps and murder attempts were the best way to express how much I loathe you. But actually we Time Lords show feelings of hatred by spooning. How silly of me!"

The Doctor's teeth had stopped chattering, and his feet, pressed against the Master's calves, had warmed up some. His hand was once again busy sneaking around the Master's waist. Apparently, he had the clinging abilities of a giant squid. Being the whale to the Doctor's cephalopod shouldn't have been arousing, but it was, a little bit. Maybe it was just the principle of the thing – he, the Doctor, close proximity. The Master sighed.

 

"My dear, it's not that I'm averse to the idea, but your method of seduction does leave something to be desired."

"I'm not seducing you," the Doctor murmured petulantly into the pillow.

"No, you aren't. That's what I was criticising."

"Couldn't we just sleep?"

"Doctor, I know that you're not asexual."

The Doctor managed to switch from plaintive to haughty in a few seconds. "You do realise you're obsessed with this? It's not my fault you've been lusting after me for centuries without seeking release elsewhere. Time Lords aren't geese, you know. We don't form lifelong monogamous bonds."

He would have been insulted, but the Master was the passive partner in a full-body hug by now, which made the Doctor's accusations slightly ridiculous. Besides, the Master had kept up with the Doctor's social life all those centuries. He felt he had the right to be somewhat self-confident. "There's really no need to be so defensive, Doctor. I'm not going to judge you."

"Defensive?" the Doctor bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Attack is the best defense, but only if it doesn't devolve into hypocrisy. Or do you really think that one or two kisses from a Time Lady scarcely out of her Academy robes elevate you so far above those monogamous birds?"

The Doctor stilled and didn't say anything for a while. When he did, it came out defensive. "You started this. I was just going to say that I was lonely and couldn't sleep. The TARDIS gets quiet sometimes."

Suddenly, the Master wasn't sure which was the excuse and which the ulterior motive in this situation. More than that, he didn't know what he wanted to be which. Maybe the Doctor was lying, or maybe the Master was misinterpreting his motives, and the Doctor really wanted his company and not his body. But the Master didn't want to assume either, because ideally, the Doctor would want both. So he threw the ball back into the Doctor's court. "All right."

Irritating as ever, the Doctor threw it right back. "All right?"

"You can stay," the Master replied, unwilling to make the invitation more definite than that. They could probably bicker about this for hours without either of them admitting to anything. Which was fine, since neither of them truly needed to sleep, and the Master knew from his centuries traveling alone that TARDISes did get quiet awfully sometimes. Compared to the long silences between their sporadic meetings, the time when they had been sharing a room as children, when they had had constant access to each other's thoughts and company, had seemed like pure decadent overabundance. Lying in bed talking to the Doctor all night was another luxury, much rarer than sleep, and the Master wasn't going to deny himself when he could have it.


End file.
